Women of War spans four generations of women in Alena's family from her great-grandmother, Shar Draiocht the last known Queen of the Dark Kingdom to her tortured daughter Morrowind, to Maven Alena's free-spirited mother and through the lonely life of Alena MacLeod ending where "The Heart of War" begins with the night Alena washes up on Ares' shore.

With intensity, lust, fear, and strength these Women of War make their way in the world revealing the hidden truths of the past and Ares true connection to his beloved Wife, Alena.

18+ EXCERPT:

"My Lord?" Shar whispered quietly as she gazed up at him with wide eyes full of confusion and fear.

Liking the sound of it, Ares smiled then held a hand out to help her to feet. "That's right, I'm Lord." He swept her off her feet and laid her down on the bed where his mouth closed down just under her ear and she let out a long shiver as her arms wrapped around him. Shar's chilly breasts pressed against his furry chest, her arms and legs wrapped around him bringing him closer. Ares pulled away to gaze down at her and rolled his tongue along his lips. She trembled in a shudder of passion and fear that brought her closer to the edge. "Don't worry, little Queen, I won't tell anyone what you let me do tonight."

Wanting that and so much more, the powerful Queen of the Dark Kingdom offered up no resistance, only a long wanton sigh when he pinned her arms over her head with one hand. Then he descended her body covering her cold breasts with his hot mouth, his moist tongue lapping along their mounds. Her breath came in heavy shallow gasps as she reached down to run her hands through his long hair and let the fire within him warm her to the chilly marrow in her delicate bones. They roamed wildly through silky strands of hair laying over his firm rippled back and down his broad shoulders. Just the feel of his skin below her hands brought the fire she sought for so long and was denied. Fae men were small, delicately framed like the women. They were scrawny and always smelled badly even though she had them washed before they marched into her bedchamber. They were hardly what a woman, a small woman like her, would call upon for safe haven. They were not what a woman of power could surrender to even for a few moments of promised bliss.

When he laid himself over her, Ares body covered her entirely like a warm blanket. A haven. A place she could hide and show her true self for those few moments of promised bliss. He was warm, so warm, all she wanted was for him to let her lay next to him, wrap her arms around him, rest her head over his beating heart and have him hold her close throughout the cold dark nights. The lower his hands and lips went the hotter she grew until all of the iciness that plagued her so long dissipated and her lean body heaved below him trying to get closer still.

Down the flat of her tiny stomach and over the sides of a waist his could lace his fingers around, the mound of dark hair between her legs waited for him. Inviting him closer was the gentle scent of honeysuckle and cinnamon wafting from its musky walls. Such a delightful scent he'd never known and it seemed he couldn't breathe in enough of it to fully please him only to tease his already fevered mind. It made the slightly perverted thoughts there turn darker still racing with images of wicked delights so real it took his heartbeat with them and together they charged, two wild horses racing against the wind.

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